A sparkling explosion of megasound
this is a nova of John’s sun and Paul’s star
inscribing itself in the chromosomes of your DNA
it is musical notes of the flamenco steps of Freddie’s flamboyance
and the piano riffs of Chris Martin’s mind,
into the dark alleys of Stipe’s words, and Dwight’s pain, and Sumner’s verse.
It is from the age of the T-Rex to the day we find ourselves
arriving at the Master’s gate.
It is extending your hands akimbo as you drive past the wind
through Jagger’s swagger and Bono’s vertigo
It is brown eyed girls in Californian hotels
OK Computer in decibels
It is morning glory on Liam’s hips,
Perching queens on Robbie’s lips,
It is personal Jesus on the Elvis pelvis
Definitely maybe sometimes always.
It is Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars
It is Mott The Hoople under African stars
It is Abbey Road crossing into your brain
It is Ruby Tuesday and November rain
It is Michael Hutchence in his afterglow
Kisses from roses and Quinn the Eskimo
Pet sounds made on a rubber soul
Tapestry on a glitter ball
Teen spirit and the bat out of hell
London calling the division bell
It is life, and how it ought to be lived
It is freedom and how it should be breathed
It is alter-egos of Bulbul’s mind
Automatic for the people’ s rhyme
Billy Shears and Desmond Jones
Rocking hearts and rolling stones
Penny Lane on the devil’s fork
And Da-n-da-da-n-da-da-n-da-da
The Only Living Boy in New York
NOORMOHAMED 